


Closure

by IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow



Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, Angst, Closure/Straightheads, F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Scully and Mulder have William back, post-IWTB, slight depiction of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow/pseuds/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flukemen. Tooms. Bounty hunters. They had fought aliens; Creatures whose only intentions were to destroy human civilization. Men who were not really men.  Donny Pfaster. Humans already mastered destroying each other, and if they ever forgot, someone came along to remind them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wounded

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own anything. This is a AU piece.. It takes place after IWTB and doesn’t follow the new canon of the comic book. This storyline assumes that once Mulder was no longer a wanted fugitive, they were able to get their son back (Chris Carter, I’m glaring at you). This has been brewing on my computer since last October and I finally felt the need to post it. I saw the movie ‘Closure’ or ‘Straightheads’ and Gillian Anderson’s performance was too good to go to waste, so this story is inspired by that, but takes a different perspective. This will focus more on the relationship of Mulder and Scully and those around them, including their son. Warnings for graphic depictions of non-con, etc.

Her eyes shift to the left, to look at him before staring at the road once again from the passenger’s seat, then drifting out the window. She was frustrated with him. She was frustrated with herself. A deep sign pushed through her chest, and while she had every right to be angry, he made it so difficult sometimes. He tried to lighten the mood when they first reached the car, muttering something about her tiny feet. She’d been up all day and night, and really, she should appreciate his gesture to drive. She couldn’t let go of her annoyance, of the reoccurring realization that nothing had changed. He didn’t want to stop the car and get out; he never did, despite offering the solution to her. They’d argued over it, very recently, but it seems like a distant memory of someone else’s’ life. She couldn’t ask him to give up. But she thought that now, of all times, they had an agreement; that things would be different.

Turning her head, she looks to the backseat where their child is safely buckled in his booster seat. She mourns the loss of seeing him in a car seat, a stroller, a toddler seat, but the booster does just fine. Next year, he’s likely not to need one at all, inheriting Mulder’s long limbs. She looks forward to the memories she hasn’t deprived her partner of: teaching him to shoot, taking him to elementary school, making a volcano with baking soda. Watching the Yankees.

Her son is a handsome boy. She’ll have to watch out when he gets into high school. His head is dropped and his eyes are closed gently in slumber, his breaths even. From all of the dancing and excitement at‘Mr. Skinman’s’ Retirement Party, she isn’t surprised that he’s fallen asleep. It didn’t hurt that it was past midnight. She closes her eyes in deep concentration.

_“Scully,” he’s out of breath, running into the building and fixing his bowtie. She’s walking past him and out the door when he reaches her. The party is over. He missed it. A woman is sweeping confetti from the floor while another collects the plates. William is draped over her shoulder as she attempts to walk quickly, not looking him in the eye.  Her small form holds him close as if he’s anchoring her to the Earth, his legs wrapped around her back and his head on her shoulder. He reaches his arms out to take him from her struggling form but she jerks away, continuing the walk in her 6 inch pumps, the beautiful dress swishing as she walked. He sighs dejectedly,trying to reason with her: “The case, it-”_

_“Let’s just go home,” and the conversation ended there. She opened the door, slid Will into his seat and sat in her own. When he makes a joke to lighten the mood she doesn’t even give him a face, a reaction. She just stares forward._

When she turns back around after giving her son’s knee a gentle squeeze, reassuring herself that he was real, she felt his eyes on her. She ignores him. Again.

He glanced at her as she stared straight ahead, silent. She was ignoring him. Would she wait until they got home to confront him? His attempt to lighten the mood failed, as he suspected it would. He couldn’t even get a smile from her and he would be happy for any type, even the depreciating one where she tilted her head, crossed her arms and looked at him smugly. He wondered when she would pounce, knowing it wouldn’t be in front of their son. _Their son._ After he came out of hiding William soon followed, sitting mysteriously in Skinner’s office and waiting patiently for his parents to be called. Their boy with brown hair and clear blue eyes had lived with them for nearly two months. He’d never seen Scully look so radiant. She was made for motherhood, he observed, in the way she packed his nutritious lunches, and helped him with his reading list. He knew that this was hard on her, realizing all the time he’d deprived her from her son. He lifted her several times to their own bed, having found her slumped and unconscious, leaning on William’s bed, holding his hand. She needed to make sure he was there- he knew her fears. They mirrored his own. Despite their current happiness, and they hadn’t been happier since the first months of William’s birth, he knew tonight would be trying. She wouldn’t let him off the hook. She took an audible breath and confirmed his inner-deliberations. He couldn’t wait any longer. He was never good at being patient.

“Listen, Scully-”

“I thought you weren’t coming, Mulder,” she said in a hushed voice, resuming their conversation from earlier.

“I told you I’d be there.”

“He was waiting up all last night for you, and kept asking me where you were through the whole party. You can’t keep leavin-”

“Scully.” He paused briefly, looking in their mirror and eying the driver behind them. They didn’t normally get people at this time of night around their way and his paranoia was climbing. Super soldiers? Men who weren’t men? No, that was over-except it wasn’t. It was never over. When it didn’t come in a physical form it manifested itself through her fitted dreams, where her hair splayed across her face and her heart beat out of her chest.

His last case, the one that aided in stemming their current argument would certainly take place in his own dream vault, knew this last case already took its place in his own dream vault, ready to unveal itself excitingly like a Disney movie placed on the shelves again. ‘Out of the vault,’ they would say excitingly, producing a ‘new and improved’ version of Bambi or Cinderella whose hair was now two shades lighter thanks to the ever-improving technology. How would his recent case come out of the vault? How would his dreams manifest themselves tonight, after their argument? Would she be dying of cancer again, but this time also the mother of a child murdered in cold blood. No. He set his jaw briefly getting a glimpse of Emily lying in a mangled mess and watched as his inner Disney vault morphed the face of the last child murdered in his latest case. The nose became pronounced and familiar, and if he could see under the white film over the decaying eyes he would Scully’s eyes. _William_. It could have been any child who fell victim to that monster, it could have been his son… _his William._

He returned to the conversation bitter, looking her in the eyes as his hands gripped the steering wheel. “You talk like you’re much better.”

 “Excuse me,” she asks incredulously, her head tilting to the side and eyebrows pitched. By the look on her face, he’s started something he may not be able to finish. He should stop here. He wasn’t being fair but neither was she. “Mulder, you-”

 “You see your patients more than our _son,_ Scully.” He sneered, turning the wheel on the winding road. The parents of the latest victim, Jared, had busy lives. Didn’t even recognize their son was gone until both got home and argued over the carpool arrangements. That couldn’t be them. He wouldn’t lose his son again. He wouldn’t lose her to her job, or to anything. The trees were passing by quickly as he accelerated. He’s angry with the case. Angry that he couldn’t save the boy. Angry that he waited nearly 6 years to get his son back. Angry at her. Angry at her. He goes in for the kill. “Do you think falling asleep on his bed makes up for the time you didn’t spend with him” he whispers harshly, trying not to wake the _him_ in the backseat.

 “I-I-,” she stutters, her cheeks quickly flustering. He’d clearly wounded her, but he was angry. Her hands clenched the silky black material of her dress, manicured fingers tightly coiling into fists. The gown she wore was beautiful, with a strap that slid across her chest, accentuating her cleavage. He was only 30 minutes late. That is, he only arrived 30 minutes after the party ended. Sure, he said he’d be home yesterday afternoon, but he arrived. Why was she constantly trying to change him? Using his absence as an excuse? He’d caught a _murderer!_ He should have stopped there, but found the outcome of his previous case creeping into his consciousness and spoiling his mood completely? He liked to think he understood their relationship. He needed her, she needed him. She was _needy._

_I thought I’d lost you_

She would never come out and say it but he could read between the lines just fine. Despite this accepted wisdom gained through years of trials and tribulations, he was angry. He felt like she was holding too close, then becoming suddenly volatile. Hell, nearly 8 months ago she threatened to leave him. She was constantly trying to make him choose. _Why did he have to?_  She’d said she didn’t want the darkness in her home. Did it count if it made itself a home in his mind?

“This constant fear of abandonment has to stop, Scully. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells.” He refuses to meet her eyes as he delivers his speared words to her chest, against his better judgment. He _wanted_ to hurt her. Misery did need company, didn’t it? He wanted her to yell at him so he could yell back; get out his anger from this previous case and her job, and their son and _everything_. He hears her breath hitch in her throat and prepares for her barked response. Her words flowed cold out of her mouth, appearing to surprise herself as well. “Pull over, Mulder.”

 “Scully.” She refused to look at him. “We’re miles from home and it’s freezing outside.” He reasoned. His  own words echo in his head ‘ _Do you think falling asleep on his bed makes up for the time you didn’t spend with him?’_ Shit. She thought he was blaming her for giving up their son. Shit. Shit. Shit. _Was he?_ Shit. Shit. He glances over and sees unshed tears perched on her eyes. They needed to work this out. Suddenly his anger was gone and replaced with worry. With guilt that rips at his chest. He fears like he’s hurt her for the last time.

_It’s why we can’t be together._

He knew the words were echoing in her head. Over and Over. Why had he said that to her; to her of all people? She shuffles in the seat, anxious. She really wanted to get out and walk; in her 6 inch heels no less.

“Scully, I’m” he pauses, glancing in the rearview mirror. Were they being followed? He pushed the thought aside as simple paranoia. His attention snaps back to the face of his wife, his partner, unbelieving, when she crosses her arms over her chest and commands him in to accentuated words to: “Pull. Over.”

Suddenly the car behind them began to tailgate, getting dangerously close to their bumper.

“What’s this idiot doing?”  He gestured to the mirror, pressing the accelerator with his foot. She momentarily forgot about her all out war on her partner and turned around to the car. They both jolted forward when the car behind the hit their bumper. Hard.

She turned quickly, taking a quick assessment of her son whose eyes were wide and fearful.

“Asshole!” Mulder shouted, swinging the car to the side of the road and flinging off his seatbelt.

“Daddy” his son asked, scared from the back seat, soon comforted by his mother’s touch on his knee.

 “It’s ok, honey,” she soothed him as he squirmed in his booster seat. “It was just a fender-bender.”  He reached over lap and fished in the glovebox for their insurance papers. Just as he maneuvered out of the car her eyes darted from her son to the activity outside the rear view window, noticing the man running toward Mulder, crowbar in hand. She screamed his name, trying to grab for him as the bar was swung into his chest, just as he stood fully out of the car.

 “Mulder!!”


	2. Beaten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mulder," she screamed as the crowbar swung into his chest, catching him briefly on the side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger warning. Graphic depictions of non-con and violence ahead.

“Mulder,” she screamed as the crowbar swung into his chest, catching him briefly on the side.

“Scully, drive!!!” He gasped as he jumped back from the next swing. He kicked the door and it snapped close. “DRIVE” he shouted, this time, dodging another swing. She wouldn’t leave him; Couldn’t leave him.

“Mommy?” Her son looked around terrified. Why was his daddy fighting?

“It’s okay, Willie.” She claimed with shaky breaths, scrambling in the glove compartment, looking for the gun she had kept there. In her _old_ car; the one that had been totaled and scrapped for parts to buy this new one.

She had to leave. She had no choice. She had to protect her son. Scooting over to the driver’s seat, her dress briefly catching on the clutch, she tried to start the car. Keys. Keys. Keys.

He had the keys.

There was no escape. She turned just as the crowbar swung into her husband, hitting him hard in the chest. He doubled, gasping for the wind that had been knocked from him. Tears sprung in her eyes but before she could shed them she realized there was more than one man. Two more hopped from the car, and she pressed the locks, just as the short one fumbled with the door handle. They were going to kill them. She hit the bottom of the steering wheel aggressively, pulling out the sheet of plastic that protected the wires. 

The bat he was holding swung at the window. _Bam._ The window held up. She had to help Mulder. Did he have his gun on him? She had to save her son. She fumbled for the car light, before remembering that they needed to get it fixed. Dammit. Dammit. She could hotwire a car; she remembered from their days on the run. But she couldn’t see the colored wires. She didn’t have scissors.

Her son was asking questions, and she couldn’t answer them. He was breathing heavily and crying for his Dad.

  _Bam._ Why hadn’t she placed the gun in her glove box?  Her hands scrambled for the cell phone sitting on the car charger, thinking of the light it could provide before realizing the cracks in the window. _Her son_. No time. Small cracks broke into larger ones as she hurriedly worked her agile fingers at the locks on William’s child seat, cursing in her head for getting the ‘extra safe’ booster seat with the clips across the waist. He already had the seatbelt, why did she need to buy him the one with the waist clips as well. She cursed herself. “William, I need you to run” she said looking her son in the eyes, and trying to comfort him once again. This time her hands shook violently. He wasn’t comforted.

 “Momm-”

The window shattered and hands reached through, grabbing her long red hair and pulling with no restraint. “RUN!” She roared as she was being ripped through the window, her scalp burning, and arms fighting her unseen attacker. Her little boy threw the opposite door open with his small fingers and slide from their car, his scrawny but long legs carrying him into the night, feet crunching on the ground. She was happy momentarily that she’d argued with him over his shoes, making him change into his black dress shoes for the special occasion in lieu of his light up Spiderman sneakers.  She fought the hands at her hair, looking for anyone to help as she screamed out. “Get off of me!” She thrashed in their hold, scratching her nails down his arms viciously.  When he momentarily let go of her hair she scurried back into the car, desperately trying to get to the other side and escape. She could run for help if she could get away. “Leave us alone.” Mulder was pinned on the trunk of the car, his head bleeding. The tall scrawny one searched his coat pulled out his badge, using it as an affirmation. Mulder fought him for what he tried to grab next, mustering the energy to momentarily break free and punch his assailant in the face. He heard a crack. They would not get the gun in his holster. They would not hurt his family. To his surprise he felt a sudden pain in his abdomen, and began to slide down the car in shock, holding his stomach as the scrawny man punched him. His nose was broken; that he knew for sure as the blood leaked from it.

 “Shot my brother yesterday and thought you’d get away with it?” He questioned, kicking Mulder in his ribs with all of his force. His vision became blotted and his fingers slipped from the gun on his hip.

_This was about his case. Michael Dimitre was under that mask, coming for vengeance._

“What about the bitch?” His stocky companion asked, reaching his stubby fingers into the car as she began to scramble out.

"Didn’t know he even had one,”  The man smiled with malice.

  “MULDER!” she screamed, clawing at the interior of the car, first grabbing the seat and then the steering wheel. He was yanking at her bare legs, and suddenly pulled her like a tug-of-war rope, her hands coming unclasped from the door. Her body collides with the ground, forcing the air from her lungs with a sickening weeze. She gasped, trying to fill her lungs; oxygynate her blood. _They’re going to kill us._  When she found that air had flooded her lungs once again she thought of William, waiting for them to come find him. He would wait and they would never come. She couldn’t abandon him. Not again.

“ _Please,_ we have a _child.”_ She yelled as the man mounted her from behind, flipping her body over like a ragdoll so she could look at him. He smiles through the mouth hole in the mask and asks her: ‘would you like another?’ his foul breath lingering in her nostrils. She spits at him, his open palm then leaving a hot stinging sensation on her face. The hand not holding her arms above her head reaches out and cups her breast. Hard. She thrashes, kicking and screaming. His eyes were all she saw as his knife glistened off the moon and her blood rushed through her veins. “Be good for me, baby.” The metal was cold against her throat, and she stared wide-eyed. He removes the knife from her porcelain skin. “Much better.”

 _William is waiting. We can’t abandon him. Not again._ She couldn’t determine whether it was the FBI training or the memories of her past attacks that lead her to head butt the man with all she had. He recoiled in shock and  her fists, now free from him, delivered a punch to his throat She peddled back from under him with her hands and feet on the hard gravel, grabbing the knife. She stood, shaky on her heels, and backed up against the car, holding out the knife in her defense. The two men huddled over Mulder left him, instead deciding to surround her instead. The one she head butted soon recovered, joining the other men. The ring leader took a step forward with a smirk and she swiped at him.

“Get the _fuck_ away from us!” She spat, her hair falling over the side of her face as she swung the knife. Her eyes were wide; feral.

They couldn’t take her family.


	3. Scarred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get the fuck away from us!” She spat, her hair falling over the side of her face as she swung the knife. Her eyes were wide; feral.
> 
> They couldn’t take her family.

 “Get the _fuck_ away from us!” She spat, her hair falling over the side of her face as she swung the knife. Her eyes were wide; feral.

They couldn’t take her family.

 

 Suddenly the ringleader of the group became tired of her games and brought the arm perched behind his back to his front, holding a gun point blank at her face. Mulder’s gun. He rapidly rammed her against the car, viciously shoving the gun under her chin and demanding that she drop the knife. It slid from her trembling fingers as she stared into the man’s harsh eyes, the only thing she could see through the mask he wore. They were hazel; sadistic. She was going to die. No; she couldn’t die. William. William _needed_ them. She didn’t have time to think of Mulder lying unconscious on the ground or worse. His name was the first to come to her lips, regardless. She needed him to help her; needed him to do the impossible.

            “MULDER,” She shouted as her body was powerfully flung against the hood of their car. Her hands splayed out in front of her, trying to push back before his heavy hand came down on her head roughly, slamming it against the cold metal.

            “No!!!!!!!!” She screamed in agony. “Leave me alone!”

            He tried to hoist her long black dress, but the fabric was taunt on her skin and he grabbed the slit, ripping it open. The dress was hoisted up her legs, despite her protests, her kicking and yelling, and she called for him, screamed for him to save her while knowing that he couldn’t this time. Her voice was cracked and raw. This was the end.

“Man, we were just gonna beat ‘em.”  The thin man whispered, wiping his mouth from where Mulder punched him in the face. He began wringing his hands and looking around the woods.

“SHUT UP!”  The ringleader exploded, his hazel eyes glistening in the moonlight, as he turned on the man and knocked him out cold. She tried to run before he grabbed the long robes of auburn hair and pulled. Her head slammed hard on the windshield and she slid a little in shock and pain before his rough hands took her hips, his fingers pressed to her pelvic bones as he held her in place. Where he wanted her. She crossed her legs and held them together with all her power but he jammed his foot between them, forcing them open. She hoped William ran far away. That he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. He couldn’t see this. She was his mother.

            “No…stop…please,” she whimpered “My _son_.”

He chose then to thrust violently into her, and her body collided with the hood of the car, sure to leave marks on her ribs. She cried out in pain as he repeated the rough motion, forcing himself into her, deeper and deeper. He pulled her back with him each time, and with each motion, forced her forward against the cold metal of the car. Her nails etched into the paint, moving up and down with each of her cries. The stabs into her body continued, rough and forceful, tearing at her insides.

And she cried. She sobbed, begged him to stop. Screamed. And then said nothing at all. Her vision was swimming as he withdrew from her. She made a feeble attempt to grab at the hood of the car before sliding down the side onto the cold gravel, the various rocks poking into her skin. He kicked her then, laughing as she tried to bring her legs close to her body. And she coughed blood.  He laughed, joined by his stocky companion. Laughed as she lay cold on the ground, trying to shake out of her skin. Shake until she was no longer Dana Scully, no longer bound to this body.  The stocky one walked to the young tall boy and nudged him with his foot, waking him up from the previous knock-out blow. The two men walked to the car as the younger boy stumbled to his feet. She saw him in her peripheral through her non-swollen eye. Her eye was wide and filled with tears.  He lingered for a moment, peddling back on his feet to the truck filled with hooting and laughing. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

 

She was shaking violently on the ground, her body on fire. When the car has sped off her head began to swim. _William. William. William._  Pushing herself to her hands and knees, she emptied her insides, heaving and lurching as the hot bile burned in her esophagus and steamed on the gravel. Her hands reached out and grabbed the tire of their car, hoisting her body up with a cry. It hurt. _Mulder._ It hurt. _William_. Her insides burned. She hazily reached into the car, its door still ajar. She stumbled and fell briefly on the upholstered seat, trying desperately to hold her shaking body up. They needed help. Mulder needed help. Her shaking fingers finally found the object of desire and she pulled her phone from the car charger, watching as it blinked to life. She typed William’s birthday into her phone, before realizing she didn’t need to unlock the phone. She pressed the emergency call button and waited. There was no shake in her voice although her bones quaked against her flesh. She was cold. So cold.

“We need help.” Her eyes were glazed over as she dropped the iphone from her fingers, the family picture of a young boy smiling with his two parents shining on the screen. She wobbled on her feet into the woods, one thought on her mind.

         _William._

* * *

 

His name was her mantra as she moved through the woods, the blisters on her feet beginning to bleed. She could feel a drip on her legs, moving down to ruin and soak in her shoes, but that was in the back of her head, her conscious simply a whispering voice while her whole head screamed to find him. “William,” she rasped, fumbling around over the dark woods, reaching out to bushes and trees for support. Every tree looked the same. How long had she been walking? She heard the police siren in the background. Her attention snapped back to the forest when she saw a bush wiggle.

“William…co-” she paused, swallowing the bile in her throat “come to mommy.” Her hand was extended in front of her and trembling just as her eyes shook in their sockets. A tuft of brown hair poked up from the bush, followed by her son’s face and the rest of his body. He emerged from the bushes glistening in the moonlight, his eyes struck with fear.

“Mommy you’re bleeding.”

“I’m f-fine, Willie.” She assured, deciding to smile at him before realizing that the metal taste on her lips and teeth was blood. She soon licked it off and inched forward. She stumbled and he immediately came running for her, his damp pants pressing against her leg as his arms worked to keep her steady. She was dizzy. It hurt. Everything hurt. “s’ok, Willie. Mommy’s just tired.” He wanted her to hold him, like she did when she read him stories in his bed at night, but his mom was hurting. He wasn’t a little kid. He hoped mommy couldn’t see his pants. He was too big to wet himself.He was a big boy, a young man his Dad had said. She suppressed a moan before continuing. “Let’s go get Daddy,” she whispered, and took his hand in hers, grasping it tightly


	4. Scathed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She suppressed a moan before continuing. “Let’s go get Daddy,” she whispered, and took his hand in hers, grasping it tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts the hurt/comfort part of the story.

As they reached their car, her shaky legs making the distance considerably longer,  a crowd of police and emergency personnel huddled around her partner.

“Ma’m?” An officer asked, running toward her, taking in her appearance. ‘God, what happened here,’ the Officer thought to himself, raking his heavy coat from his shoulders. The woman looked freezing, her body shaking from head to toe. The little boy looked at him with wide eyes.

“Mulder” She murmured, her eyes glazed over. The police officer cocked his eyebrow, coat still in hand as an offering, and turned abruptly when he heard a deep voice shouting.

“Dana!”

In the back of her mind she could hear herself speaking, filling her in on his ability to be there. To know. _There’s a tracker on the phone,_ The voice feebly spoke, nearly drowned out by the pain. _If any of our numbers were to call the police, he instantaneously receives a notification. You know this, Dana._

He took in her appearance before she could take in her own. Her evening gown was tattered and torn, the top slipping down from the ripped strap, revealing her black lace brassiere, scraps and cuts clashing against the once elegant gown. Her lip was split and a trail of blood ran down from her hairline. Bruises were beginning to form on her face and her left eye was swollen shut. He continued his quick overview only to notice a trail of dirt and nearly black blood on her legs from the tear on the dress. Scratches on her thighs. Blood. Blood. “Oh god, Dana,”

The world was spinning as her knees collapsed. Her son screamed for his mother while Skinner shouted for the medics that were already hauling over a stretcher. She could feel his arms around her and she fought to regain her composure as her consciousness faded in and out.

_What about Mulder? Dana, ask about Mulder. Mulder was hurt. You heard the gunshot yourself. Stop being selfish, ask about Mulder. Was he alive? Did it graze him? Was the gunshot a through and through? Did it pierce any vital organs? How much blood did he lose? Was he conscious? You can donate, you’re O positive. Tell them to take your blood._

Her brain was forming words that she should be able to compile as a cohesive sentence ,but instead she slurred his name like a drunken fool, the swell in her lips becoming apparent and the metallic taste lingering.

“Mul-ler” She asked, looking into Skinner’s eyes as he held her small body in place. She held out her arm, hoping that he’d know to take her blood. Take her organs if he needed them. She was a donor. He could have them. The darkness was suffocating.

“Dana-

“I’m fi-fine,” She spoke, her words absent of their normal articulation. She leaned into Skinner and held her son’s hand tight as black spots swam across her vision. She was nauseous. _You have a concussion,_ her consciousness spoke, along with the line: ‘I’m a medical Doctor.’She had a concussion. That was all. A simple concussion from hitting her head. Nothing else happened. She had to be strong for Mulder. For their son.

She didn’t even feel Skinner’s hands under her armpits or hear her son scream for her as  her knees collapsed.

* * *

 

She woke to the stark white of a hospital room, afraid. She frantically looked around, and found Skinner by her side, her son’s eyes darting back and forth; red and swollen. This was no place for her son. She suddenly found her voice and was happy when it didn’t slur. “Where’s Mulder?”

“He’s recovering from surgery.” Skinner responded and she winced. She looked at the IV in her arm and sat up on the gurney, her head spinning as she did so, causing her to bring her hand to it; she needed to settle the world. The world finally stopped shaking and she could push back the nauseous feeling bubbling in her stomach. She was still wearing her dress and confusion crossed her face “You’ve been asleep for 4 hours…You fought them in your sleep when they touched your clothes” he spoke solemnly, avoiding her eyes.

She ignored the declaration from Skinner and turned her attention to her son. He looked exhausted. “Will, you need sleep,” she stopped her words and swallowed, her voice raw and raspy. “Here, lay with me.” He sniffled and rose from the chair, climbing into the bed with her.  As he laid back into her side and over her stomach she gasped, immediately muting the pain that surged through her and trying to maneuver. Skinner’s eyes snapped to hers as her own darted away from him. _Don’t._  Her son eyed his mother fearfully. She couldn’t stay here. She had to get to Mulder.  “Can you get my clothes? There’s a bag in my locker an-“

“You can’t possibly think of leav-”

“I’m a Doctor and I have merely cuts and bruises,” she delivered with ice, daring him to challenge her further.  “I have a change of clothes in the locker room…I just need to change.” “Please,”Her voice cracked. “I need to change, and see Mulder. I’m just a little bruised.” _Please don’t question me any further. They’re only bruises. I’m fine. Nothing else happened._

He wasn’t going to help. Her eyes shook in their sockets, utter betrayal glistening in them before she looked away.

Skinner’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of the woman he respected most, her red matted hair rising from the pillow as she hoisted herself up, “Will, could you scoot over a little for momma,” she asked softly as she slid from the sheets of the bed, leaving them stained with splotches of red in her wake, and calling softly for her son. Skinner looked for a nurse to aid him, but knew they could do nothing if she refused medical treatment. The bald linebacker followed after her limping form; her bare feet, dirty and damaged making padding through the hall as she dragged the iv pole with her. He couldn’t ask her what truly happened to her, so instead he walked beside her.

He knew she was grasping tightly to the strings of her dignity and he wouldn’t make it any more difficult for her. They were already so frayed and he refused to unravel them further, holding William’s hand as she walked, his little brow etched in fear.

 “Mulder,” she began, seeing his face battered and bruised, his torso naked with white stained bandages wrapped around his middle. She held the bars of his bed tightly, wanting to lower it, but feeling so weak. Skinner was right behind her with a chair, seeing the strain standing caused her. She let go of her son’s hand, easing down into the seat with hands on both of the arms, begging that he wouldn’t notice the look on her face when she finally reached the seat. She closed her eyes and bit her lip.  

“Sc-Scully,” his voice cracked, and he tried to open his eyes to no avail. “A-Are you and William-”

“We’re fine,” she declared, giving his hand a soft squeeze, diverting her eyes from Skinner’s. When Mulder had slipped back into a medication-induced sleep, she rose, noticing her son’s sleeping form in the chair right next to her. Skinner had left to get a cup of coffee, and she really needed to get William into a bed. She reached down in an attempt to hoist her 7 year old, but began to collapse just when Skinner returned. He was immediately by her side, taking her son from her grasp and maneuvering him into his own arms as she used the nearby chair for support.

“His-His pants are soiled,” she whispered, her hand coming to her mouth to strangle a cry in her throat. “He-He heard.”

“Dana, you have to report it.”

“I can’t,” she adamantly shook her head. She stumbled into his resting arm, the other grasping her son tenderly.

“I’m going to get a Doctor.”

* * *

 

In the end, it was Monica who talked her into it, uttering words of encouragement from the car she was speeding in with John Dogget. They needed to catch the men who did this.

She stared blankly past the Doctor who was telling her about the damages to her body, simply thankful that she didn’t know her. That she didn’t know her. _Stitches are quite common, Dana,_ she heard her mind repeat. _It’s only a few, you’ll recover in two weeks time, tops._ Just a small tear, and some damage that would be fixed through medication; nothing to serious internally. After all, she was _lucky._ She could have died, could have been forever maimed. 

 Unlike the Doctor, she knew the nurse and couldn’t escape her pity-filled eyes as she swapped and performed the ‘rape-kit’ procedures.

“Dr-Dr. Scully,” the young woman stammered, as Scully pulled the paper robe back over herself, then pulling the hospital blanket around with her.

“Yes Amanda,” she answers numb, determined to keep her dignity.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine, Amanda.” Her eyes are blank again, staring past the young nurse and wondering if Mulder had woken up; praying that Skinner would keep his promise not to tell him. Amanda slipped from the room and she sat there. He couldn’t know. Mulder…he would think it was his fault, and she couldn’t have another thing on his conscience. She should have been more help. She could have defended herself more. _No_. She shook her head. This was _not_ her fault. “I just need a shower and my clothes.”

She worked her way through her testimony, thankful that her test results were returned and negative…for now. She swallowed the pill and elected for the shower that Amanda had offered her, wanting to change and finally put on underwear again. She limped into the shower and used the hottest water possible, washing over herself repeatedly, wincing from the pain. The water boiled her skin and she let it, relishing in the feeling of everything melting away. She washed her hair, and the cuts on her face, all the way down to scrubbing the dirt and blood from her feet. Her skin was stained pink when she emerged, sliding the underwear on first with a wince, and then moving to the pants, which were thankfully the yoga pants she packed in her locker bag. After sliding on her sweater over the cuts and bruises and moving her hospital slide-ons onto her feet, she closed the locker. Emerging from the room, Amanda was waiting.

“Dr. Scully, your son is awake.”

She walked boldly, no longer stumbling. Mulder couldn’t know and neither could her son. She had to be strong, be strong for them. She tilted her head upward and walked towards Mulder’s room, the beginnings of  mid-morning now peaking through the blinds.

“There’s my boy,” she said, entering the room where her son had changed clothes and was now munching on a lunchable. She knew she owed the clothes to John and Monica, who most-likely stopped by her house on the way over. John was sitting with Skinner, sipping on coffee and talking with William while Monica stood in the corner with her arms crossed over her chest, immediately locking eyes with the red head as soon as she entered. William scrambled to his feet, Dogget catching the tumbling meal-time food, as her son barreled toward her.

“Careful, Will,” Skinner began and the boy slowed, reaching his mother as she kneeled painfully and wrapped her arms around him. The boy began to sniffle into his mother’s shoulder and squeezed her as tightly as his little arms would allow. She ran her battered hands over his hair, soothing him.

“I thought-

“shh, shh, it’s okay, baby,” she whispered, already knowing what her son was going to say. She hoped one day he wouldn’t fear her leaving him but knew that day was far from now. “I’m here.”

“I heard you cryin’ but I couldn’t come, Mommy,” He sobbed and her hands splayed across his back, her eyes wide in an attempt not to hyperventilate.

“I-I’m fine, Will,” her voice cracked, as her son continued to cry. “You did good.” He pulled back from his mom and started to wipe his eyes, nodding his head along with her own encouraging one.

“Will Daddy be ok?”

“Of course; he’s just restin’. He’ll be back to little league in no time,” Dogget chimed in, filling in the place for her silence. Will turned to look at him earnestly and then back to his mother who nodded, her red locks spilling over her shoulders as she did so.

 When he was finally done, he fell asleep on her shoulder. Dogget scooped the boy from her with the tenderness and experience of a father as Monica crouched by her side, whispering soothing words in her ears and bringing her back to her feet with Skinner’s assistance.

“Ple-please, you can’t tell Mulder.”

“Dana, he’d-”

“Promise me.” She looked each of them in their eyes, getting the silent affirmation of their promise.

“He needs to know.”

“I-I know. I just need time… _Please.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Please review and tell me what you think. Where do you think the story should go? I'm eager to hear people's ideas :)


	5. Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes her hand from her eyes, kissing her knuckles softly. This he can do.

**Wednesday**

**Our Lady of Sorrows**

 

He gives his statement to the Police, telling them exactly who committed the crime. The Police shoot him looks when he mentions Scully’s name and he can’t be sure why. Monica and John practically dragged her from his room to eat: _“you’ve been here 4 days, Dana. You need air,” he heard Monica reason._ The police officer diligently writes when he describes that they all wore masks but that the man made comments about his brother.

“It was about a case, Mr. Mulder?” the officer asks, and Mulder nods explaining his latest case. Skinner runs his hand over his head, and Mulder can see the tension in his eyebrows. In his bones. He doesn’t know how to tell the man he isn’t responsible- take the burden off of his shoulders. He wonders when his once upon a time boss and long-time friend became Atlas, carrying the World on his shoulders. He saw himself in the man; both of them blaming themselves for every wrong. Telling him it wasn’t his fault wouldn’t work, because the linebacker of a man could easily reason that he set up the consultation. He couldn’t vindicate him of imaginary crimes. He couldn’t protect his agents. He lost him in Oregon. He sees the heavy man sigh when the Officer leaves the room and Mulder sighs with him. He hopes Scully is fairing better than he and his previous superior. They make a perfect pair of self-loathers.

At least he was being released at the end of this week

He hasn’t seen her since Monica had taken her, almost a day ago. He needs to tell her. He can’t keep it from her- that they were attacked because of his work. She’d asked him to keep the darkness from their home, pleaded and begged and now they returned to it. How was he supposed to tell her? That they hadn’t been caught. That the attack wasn’t random. That they could come back again, easily. He shuttered at the thought, thinking they wouldn’t be so lucky next time. His thoughts stop abruptly when he sees the door crack then open, red hair shimmering into the room. She returns to his bedside, and he can finally look at her; take her in: his wife. His eyes are half-lidded and filled with sleep but he can see her clearly. Her face is covered in purple bruises, a few turning green. Her lip is slowly healing. Slowly he sees her lower herself onto the chair next to his bed, her eyes closing in what seems like pain.

“Scully?” he questions softly, his voice still filled with sleep. He reaches to take her hand in his, careful not to touch her broken nails. It hurts him to look at his wife, his beautiful wife who fought so hard for him. For them. It hurts him more when she tenses under his touch. She wasn’t telling him something. His friends were avoiding his questions. She had saved them.

But at what cost?

* * *

**Monday**

**Residence of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully**

**Virginia**

 

He’s recovering slowly and lies on his side of the bed, eagerly anticipating her arrival. Doggett helped move the tv into their bedroom so he would be comfortable. Any moment now she would come in and sit with him, eager to watch Jon Stewart like they did every night they were home together. He already had it all mapped out. His stitches were improved enough where he could move a little if he wanted. He would reach his arm out, and maybe she could even lie on his chest. Clicking it on, he began to watch.

“Scully, you’re man-candy is on,” he called, chuckling softly and holding his stomach when pain pinched him there. When she didn’t respond, he called again “Scully?”Her head appeared in the door frame, hair swinging behind her in a bright red pony tail. She looked frazzled and her eyes had deep dark circles. She’d gone back to the hospital this week. Something was off and he couldn’t tell what.

“Jon Stewart’s on,” he reasons, pointing with the remote to the television.

“I’ll be in; I just have to finish some things.”

He doesn’t believe her. His belief disintegrates when he wakes the next morning; when her side of the bed is untouched and cold.

* * *

**Saturday**

**Residence of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully**

**Virginia**

 

At the week’s finish, although he hasn’t seen or talked to his wife much, he’s able to walk. It’s nearly 4 am when he wakes from fitful sleep to notice that her side of the bed is again vacant. He hears soft cries and moves slowly down the hall, pushing William’s door open. He’s startled to find that Scully’s kneeling next to the bed, her hands wrapped around their little son and her face knotted. Her brows are furrowed and she’s whimpering. Had she been there all night? Had she been there every night she came home from the hospital? No wonder she’d seemed tired the whole week. He begins to limp towards her, his crutch supporting the weak side of his body.

‘Stop,’ he hears her pained voice whisper and he actually pauses for a moment, believing she’s awake.  ‘William. Run.’ Her voice is breathy and her hands squeeze tightly on their son’s body, waking him.

“Mom?” he questions in pain, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. The healing nails on her fingers are jagged and they hurt against his Yankees pajamas. He looks up to see his father in the room, who drops to the floor with a painful grunt and shakes her.

“Scully. Scully. Wake up.”

Her eyes snap open, her breath ragged. She hears her son say “Mommy, you’re hurting me,” and she backpedals, letting go of her boy and falling back against the wall. She looks at her hands and at her son, who rubs his tender skin and she can feel tears prickling at her eyes.

“Scully,” Mulder says, inching towards her but she’s out of the room in a flash, holding her hand over her mouth

He shoots his son a sympathetic look as if to say ‘It’s ok, we’re ok,’ but his son’s voice catches his attention

“Dad, I –I had a nightmare” he says, “And the bed-“ Mulder sighs softly; he should have known this would happen. He only hoped that it wouldn’t.

“It’s ok, Will. Here, let me help you out of those clothes. You want the Knicks?” William shakes his head yes and Mulder pulls the team’s pajamas out of the third drawer in his dresser. Each item is meticulously placed, folded and stacked-even color sorted; Scully had her ways. His training in psychology kicks in and he realizes that he should ask his son about his nightmare, but before he can William has already began. He’s standing clad in his new clean underwear holding the Jersey tight to his chest, curling his toes in the blue carpet in the room.

“I was in the woods again”

 _The Woods? Again?_ Scully hadn’t told him

“Mommy, she-she wouldn’t stop screaming”

_Screaming?_

“And I couldn’t help.”

 He drops to his knees, feeling the stitches pull against his skin. He doesn’t care. Mulder brings his large arms around his son; encompassing his small body. He pulls him close has his son cries into his shoulder. One hand on his back and the other on his head, he rubs his hair, attempting to still his son.

“It’s not your fault. Mommy’s fine an-“

“Do you promise? She isn’t mad at me?

“Of course not.”

“She won’t give me back?” His breath hitches in his chest but he hears a small sob. They were speaking loud and his William’s door was open. She’d heard.

“Mom loves you more than anything in this world or the next. We both do, William.” His brown-haired son sniffles and pulls back staring at his father with the same eyes as his mother. “She’s okay?” he rubs his eyes, returning to their previous conversation

“I’ll make sure of it,” Mulder says seriously his heavy hands on each of his son’s shoulders, grasping them softly. “Now let’s get you to sleep.” He removes the sheets and begins to pull out new ones from his closet when William interrupts.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” Mulder smiles softly and takes William’s tiny hand in his, walking him to the bedroom. He sets his son down on the mattress with the slightest twinge from his stitches, and isn’t a bit surprised when he gravitates to Scully’s side, pressing his face into her pillow. He’s fallen asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Mulder walks slowly down the hall, holding the rail tightly as he walks down each step. He sees her on the couch, head in her hands, crimson hair covering her face. Soft sobs erupt from her body and he sits next to her. Reaching out carefully and agonizingly slow, his hand gently comes to contact with her knee. When she doesn’t recoil or push him away he inches closer to her. He takes her hand from her eyes, kissing her knuckles softly.

_This he can do._

“Scully, these things happen.”

She covers her eyes wither her free hand and she shakes her head. He runs his fingers through her hair, and catches a snag. When she gasps and pulls back, her eyes wide and fingers shaking, he stares at his wife. She looks scared and heaven knows that he’s terrified.

“I-I can’t do this Mulder.”

 Before he can say a word she’s out of the room and into their guest room. He pretends he doesn’t hear her gasping through the walls.

He’s reminded of Donny Pfaster and suddenly it hit him; what everyone else wouldn’t say. Why she flinches and avoids him. She’s having the nightmares again. She needs help.

He knows they need to talk tomorrow.  

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

Tomorrow doesn’t come when she begins 60 hour workweeks. He’s started taking his son to a friend from Oxford who specializes in child trauma. He’s stopped wetting the bed, but his nightmares are persistent, this much he knows. He knows the fear, and he prayed to a God that he didn’t believe in that his son wouldn’t suffer the night terrors that he had. That Scully had. His son is young, and with Jennifer’s help he should improve. But he fears for his son, who blames himself. He fears more for his mother. She’s barely home and when she is she still refuses to sleep in their once shared bed.

It’s nearly two weeks later, now nearly month after their attack when he finally gets a chance to talk to his wife. She’s decided to take on the chore of grocery shopping and when he sees her in the door he nearly runs over to her.

“Scully, Scully,” he repeats, taking the bags from her while simultaneously supporting her. “William,” he bellows and the boy comes barreling down the stairs, taking the bags Mulder is offering to him. She’s been gone for nearly 35 hours, and somewhere along that line she decided to go grocery shopping.

Once she’s free from the bags, including her large hospital one, he pulls her to him. It’s the first time in a month that he’s held his wife, felt her skin against his. She doesn’t pull away but he feels her fingers scrunch against his shirt, hot, wet tears seeping through the thin fabric.

“Will, go on upstairs and-

“Is mom ok?”

“Will,” he warns, before reminding himself that his son had every right to be worried about his mother. “She’s fine, Will. Go to tv room, you can watch Teen Titans tonight.” The boy’s eyes look concerned for a moment and then they look happy. He’s never allowed TV this late on a school night. He rushes off to watch Beast Boy and Robin. His favorite is Cyborg, although he likes to tell Dad that mom is like Raven.

He walks her slowly to their room, before closing the door to give them privacy. “Christian’s dead,” she mumbles into his shirt and he holds her tightly.

“It’s ok Scully, you did all you could.”

She abruptly pushes away from him, turning her back to him. “I didn’t. And they-

“Scully, what did they say?”

“She said that now that I had my son, I didn’t need to worry about _hers_.”

“Scully,” She doesn’t respond. “Dana,” he reaches a hand out and touches her shoulder softly, turning her to meet his gaze.“You put everything into saving that boy. Don’t you ever forget it.”

He leads her to the bed and spoons behind her, holding her until she stops sobbing and finally succumbs to sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning he awakens to knocking at the door. He turns and finds her side of the bed empty. It’s nearly 10am according to the flashing red clock-she’d let him sleep in, even though she’d been the one who needed it. He hadn’t even heard her get William off to school. She was probably working an early shift.

Rising from the bed and moving down the stairs he sees that she’s fully dressed and at the door, unlatching the 3 locks and opening the heavy oak.

“Vera?” she questions kindly, stepping to the side to let the woman in the door. Mulder’s heart jumps into his chest- why would their lawyer come here unannounced.

“I apologize for my unannounced arrival,” Vera Smith begins, taking the coffee Scully offers her and sitting on their high-back chair, crossing her hose-clad legs. “I’m here about your case.

“Fox, you asked me to check with the Police department, to make sure your case hasn’t gone cold. And-“

“There’s nothing to convict NAME. Even though he had probable cause, being the brother of the man you convicted-

He feels Scully tense. “Unfortunately he has an airtight alibi, affirmed by two other men and his sister.” He knows that Scully is positively livid, but she doesn’t show it to Vera. The woman is as sharp as a tact, but Scully’s had years of experience of hiding her emotions and she wouldn’t start opening books now.  He, on the other hand, was more for the loud, melodramatic show.

“And the samples taken from Dana showed no results.” She caught his attention

“Samples?”

Vera looked into Fox’s widened eyes, the creases of his skin tugging painfully, trying to keep his hazel orbs from tumbling out of their sockets. Dana, on the other hand looked like a terrified animal, a doe caught in a trap. Vera shut her lips tightly. He didn’t know. He didn’t know. Dana hadn’t told him. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ How could she have been their lawyer for nearly 10 years and still know nothing?

Vera tries to snowball past what she just said, trying to provide a quick recovery that she knows doesn’t exist. She needs to take back her words, suck them back inside her throat and lock them away forever. She dropped the ball. She may have ruined their marriage. She needs to flee, get out of here and leave them to themselves.

“The police refuse to convict but I will fight the bastards until I get them behind bars,” the tall brunette stands quickly from her seat, joined soon by Scully. Mulder is stock-still on the couch, oblivious to her words or departure.

“Thank you, Vera,” Scully whispers softly, refusing to make eye contact with her. She’s wringing her hands like a used washcloth filled to the brim with soapy suds.

“I’ll be in touch,” she says, shooting Scully an apologetic look. The red-head smiles softly back at her and closes the door.

Mulder is staring at nothing, and then she notices his hands begin to shake, followed by his torso and his shoulders. She hears soft sounds emanate from his throat.

“I-I have to go pick up William,” she mutters, grabbing her purse and opening the door.

He doesn’t remind her that William has basketball practice after school today. He doesn’t say that it’s only 10:23am and William doesn’t get out until 4:45. Instead he sobs loudly into his hands, realizing that he finally received the truth he so yearned for over the entirety of this month. He finally found the secret he attempted to squeeze from her like the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube. Instead he lets her go and pretends he doesn’t hear the car start and remain outside their home, the engine purring for nearly 20 minutes before she drives off.

This he can do.


	6. Damaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She gasps and sputters behind the wheel, trying to keep everything together. Damn him. Damn him for his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who encouraged me to continue this story :) Y'all the real MVP's

 

**Chapter 6: Damaged**

She gasps and sputters behind the wheel, trying to keep everything together. Damn him. Damn him for his tears. She was doing so well, so- _who was she kidding_? She couldn’t even hug her own husband without feeling hands snaking around her skin, fingernails sliding down her thighs, finger pads pressing so deep into her flesh she could swear they were pushing through the skin and into her organs. Last night, last night had been the first time he held her and, and-and now it was ruined. He would never touch her again, would never forgive himself. Would never forgive her.  Things would never be the same.

She hits the steering wheel. Once, twice, a third time, slapping her flat palms against the leather wheel, thrashing in her seat. Damn her for wanting to stop, to get out of the car and start a life. Damn him for never letting go, for putting them in danger. Damn him for lying to her. Damn him for taking cases. _That’s what brought you together._ Damn her for being livid with him, for being a coward and running. Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.

_Damn her_

When her palms are reddened and burning thoroughly and she’s gasping from exertion, tears streaked down her face, she stops. She brings the backs of her palms to her glistening eyes and wipes away all the evidence she can all-the puffy eyes would abate eventually. This wasn’t the time for sobbing and breaking down. She was Dana Scully. Ex G-Woman. Gun toting extraordinaire. Dr. Dana Scully, brilliant in her field.

Dr. Scully, currently unemployed pediatric doctor

_How had that slipped her mind?_

Just another thing to add to the list of “Things to tell Mulder.”

She knew what he would want when she returned. _The truth_. God how that man hunted for the truth, and he would clink every piece of her armor until she was standing in aluminum foil if he had too.

What was the truth? That she didn’t want to walk back into their home. That she couldn’t face him, face his hazel eyes staring at her in pity. That she was _fine._ She wasn’t. The truth was that she was frightened, terrified, petrified, horrified- her brain ran out of synonyms and she checked the analog clock

There are hours to go before William gets out of school and basketball practice.

She knows that she must go. She must leave and return as the woman they need.

_“This constant fear of abandonment has to stop, Scully.”_

The words echo in her head. She was needy. Weak. She wouldn’t be weak-couldn’t. She couldn’t be the woman who ran from her husband and sat in boiling water every night until her skin puckered bright red. Her family needed her. She must go.

Having nowhere to go, she puts the car in drive and goes. 

* * *

He spends time sobbing over his failures. He didn’t protect her. He promised on their wedding night- when they were hot, on the run and terrified but togethen. When he held her close, so close they nearly melded together, that he would protect her. When she shook form Pfaster and everything that he had caused he made another promise with his words: “ _you’re my touchstone, you’re my one in five billion, Maybe there’s hope, I believe the dead are not lost to us_ .” Each of his words held the same meaning when he whispered them so many years ago: I will Protect You. And every time he lied.  _Lied. Lied. Lied._

And she’d left, like nothing bothered her. If he had the strength to speak through his gut wrenching sobs, to ask her how she was, he knew what she would say.

_I’m fine, Mulder_

He could even hear her voice. He heard it in the way she fled. The stutter when she told him she was going to pick up William. _She wasn’t fine._ Not at all. And it was his fault.

Everything made sense. And he was angry with her. How could she have kept that from him? He could have helped her. They could have- He runs his hands over his face and wipes his eyes. He needed to be strong for her. He needed to be there for her so she could talk to him. He’d bring down every wall she had if he had to. She couldn’t keep it inside; it would destroy her.

He realizes that it’s been nearly a month and not counting yesterday, he’s rarely talked to his wife. Yesterday was their first night in bed together- the first time she didn’t lean over William’s bed most of the night or flinch under his touch. _He should have known._ He was a trained psychologist, a fucking profiler! He should have helped her.

What else was she hiding under the walls she so carefully made of sticks and stones to break his bones and words meant to hurt him?

He needed to help her, needed to be her touchstone. He just hoped that she didn’t just drive away from their life for good.

He takes the cordless phone from its cradle and pushes in the right digits. He had no idea if Scully had her phone, so his safest bet was to call the hospital. She always used work as a distraction and heavens knows the hospital needed her. Her office phone rings and rings and rings until finally he hears an intake of break on the other line- but it isn’t hers. He knows Scully’s breath.

“Hello?” The feminine voice answers. She doesn’t sound a day over 16, Mulder notes.

“Hello, I’m looking for Dr. Scully. This is her husband, Mulder.”

There’s a distinct pause and he could swear he can hear the young woman push her hair nervously behind her ears and fiddle with the strings on her outfit. He knows. She was bracing herself to deliver him news. _Dr. Scully isn’t here,_ she would say or _I’m her new secretary and she said not to take any calls today,_ or even better _Dr. Scully says she’s leaving you and the divorce papers are in the mail._

He shakes his head at the last thought. Ludacris. Scully always said he had an imagination that could redefine the word pessimist.

His last thought was ludacris but not as insane as what he hears the young woman who identifies herself as a pediatric nurse whisper.

“Mr. Mulder, Doctor Scully doesn’t work here anymore.”

He guesses that he asked the woman for an explanation but all he sees is yesterday. When she’d come home and told him Christian had passed. What his parents had said.

How he told her it would be okay.

And she was let go. Fired from the thing that helped keep her together. Fired from the job that she put her heart and soul into.

She hadn’t told him. She cried into his shoulder and he held her till she sobbed herself to sleep but she hadn’t told him.

 _“Go be a Doctor,”_ he told her. And she had. _“Don’t give up,”_ he reinforced.

He suddenly realized her world was crumbling on all fronts.

 _“William would be better,”_ she whispered breathlessly last night before she succumbed to slumber and he suddenly realized what the rest of her sentence was: _without me._

“Jesus,” he says suddenly, ending the conversation with the woman still blabbering on about how Father Ybarra was being unfair and Dr. Scully was brilliant. He aggressively pushes the speed dial. “Scully,” he says into her voicemail. “Scully, I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but I love you. Don’t give up,” he whispers.

* * *

 

She’s sitting in the bleachers, watching as her son runs up and down the court. He isn’t paying attention to the stands. No one’s normally there, certainly not her.  There are a few mothers in the small elementary school stadium, huddled on the other side of the blue and white bleachers. They eye her suspiciously over the tops of their baby’s heads, as if she’s a deviant prowling over their children. Diaper bags held close, they shift and whisper. One pulls her hooded grey sweater closer around herself while another brushes baby vomit from her shirt. She doesn’t belong here. In her heeled boots and fitted jeans. Prada jacket tied tightly around her wire-thin body.

 _She isn’t one of them_.

That much she knows. It doesn’t take the mother’s stares to accentuate what she knows: she is a terrible mother. Her son has been on this indoor basketball league for the whole winter and she hasn’t seen his practice or games once. Not once. Fresh snow has accumulated in the mountain region they live in, but that doesn’t stop the dates from ticking past ‘winter’. Winter season began at the end of October. It was the end of March.

 _“You see your patients more than our son, Scully,”_ his words sting, but she remembers them distinctly. She can see the truth in them. He was right. She didn’t deserve her son, didn’t deserve to be called a mother. Didn’t deserve-

She’d given him away, once. She-

 _No_. She would stop doing this to herself. She’d finally gone to see the psychologist on the card slid to her by the sex crimes specialist. She talked with the woman, set up future appointments. It would help. She would be there for them- stop running, stop blaming herself.

She was drawn from her reverie when her boy’s eyes, so much like his father’s, caught hers and lit like it was Christmas morning again and Santa had brought him Batman on the Xbox.

“Mom,” He shouts, breaking formation and running over to the stands. Her eyes briefly glance at the clock. Practice ended in 15 minutes. He pauses, checking the clock too and realizing his error. He looks at the coach who shoos him away

“Hey Willie,” she says brightly as her son hustles into the car, a bright smile on his face.

“Mom!

“So then Mom, Richie Gentry from the middle school team kept messing up layups and and coach told him,” Her son changes his voice to imitate the burly coach with muscles that once rippled and chest hair that poked out of the top of his unbuttoned polo “Rich, if you don’t get a move on, I’m going to toss you into the basket.” Her son starts laughing then, pulling the extra juice box that Mulder packed in his lunch pail on practice days.

“No way,” Scully returns, looking at her son in the rearview mirror. He was so happy. She loved him. She would be better. For herself. For Mulder. For him.

“Way, and then Mr. Sommers said that my project was the best, even compared to the 3rd graders.”

“My genius boy,” she responds turning the wheel of the car onto a side street. The snow was bad but most of the streets were clear and this definitely was better than the traffic on the highway.

She looks to her left and sees young boys a few years older than Will tossing snowballs at one another. She sees a girl in a pink coat running and hears her squeal and is reminded of Bill and Charlie tackling Missy and shoving snow all into her jacket while she made thousands of snow balls to retaliate.

Looking back to the road and then into her rearview mirror she gasps. The car swerves on the slick pavement and she slams on the breaks.


	7. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Open your eyes for me, Scully.”

_Looking back to the road and then into her rearview mirror she gasps. The car swerves and she slams on the breaks._

_"Mom!"_

* * *

 

She gasps and pushes her tiny foot forcefully against the break, ignoring all of her previous knowledge of automobiles. Her eyes are wide and the car swerves. Her hands move reflexively, turning into the skid and sliding to the side of the road.

The engine continues to run, heat warming the occupants. William sighs, noting that they are just on the side of the road. They aren’t hurt; bad me aren’t surrounding them. His juice box has fallen to the floor and he thinks he’s breathing rather heavy, until he realizes that it’s his mother.

“Mom,” he questions, quirking the genetically predisposed eyebrow. When she doesn’t answer, he unbuckles his seatbelt and begins to climb, reaching for the passenger’s side headrest and placing his little light-up sneaker on the box between the seats. The sight of his mother frightens him, reminding him of the woods, of her screams. Her knuckles are white against the leather steering wheel and she isn’t looking at him- her eyes are tightly closed. Her whole body is shaking and he’s terrified.

William scurries to the back seat and fishes into his blue backpack for his ‘only for emergencies’ cell phone. He opens it and pushes the speed dial.

* * *

 

“Dad” his son’s voice is harried. “Mom-Mom, I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Where are you?” He asks, his voice laden with fear.

“By the post office- and she”

That was only 2 miles from their home. He hops in the car and presses his foot hard on the accelerator. “William, I’ll be there shortly. Take a deep breath and stay with your mother.”

* * *

 

When he gets there, William hops out of the car and runs to him.

“Will, What happened?” he says, looking at his wife through the foggy windows of her Honda.

“Jason Mardock began to snowball fight with the other kids, even though he wasn’t in their fight ‘cause he hits too hard. He threw a snowball and it hit Mommy’s window, and-“

“Go get in my car, Will.” He says to his son, repeating the statement with emphasis when he rejects. “William John,” he says sternly and his son hurries to his father’s car. Regardless, he’s pressed to the window; watching.

Mulder opens the driver’s side door of the 2007 and sucks in a breath at the sight of his wife. “Scully,” he nearly moans as he drops to his knees slowly, the cold, wet snow soaking through his pants.

“Scully,” he speaks softly. His beautiful wife looks nearly transparent. Her eyes are tightly shut, her hands tremor on the wheel. “Scully,” he tries again, this time reaching out and softly touching her arm.

Her head begins to shake adamantly and she jerks away from his touch. “P-please,” she heaves, her voice shaky. “I have a son. My son.”

“Scully, it’s me. Mulder,” he begins as her hyperventilating chest moves fast, sucking air into her lungs. “It’s okay, Scully,” he continues, attempting to soothe her. “Open your eyes.” She shakes her head some more and he reaches his hand out again. “Open your eyes for me, Scully.”

Her eyes hesitantly open but her shaking continues.

“It was a trigger, Scully. It’s just me and William- No one else.” He needs to talk to her. A snowball triggered her. God, what had he missed? How long had this been happening? What happened to her?

“I can’t move, Mulder,” she whispers and he thinks she might break like one of the icicles hanging from the side of her car.

“That’s perfectly normal, Scully,” Mulder reassures. “Let’s get you home, okay?” He asks. She seems to begin to remember her previous therapy sessions from a lifetime ago, a lifetime of Pfasters and abductions and burying the father of your child. She begins to take deep, calming breaths. _Take in the scenery. Notice the smells. Breathe in deeply. It’s not real. Remember your exercises._ She knows it is Mulder beside her, not those- those- _no_. It is the hand of her husband that is touching her trembling ones ever so softly. His hand his resting on hers and he slowly moves her rigid fingers off of the steering wheel, his hands then working on her seatbelt. She lets him do this for her.

“I-I’m fine now, Mulder,” she murmurs, trying desperately to hold onto the composure she had left. His arm offers support, but she still tries to get out of the car on her own. His brave, proud, strong Scully, but her legs wobble and she nearly falls over. When was the last time she slept, let alone ate, he wonders? He’d let her get this way; deteriorate before his eyes. When his arms encircle around her, supporting her, he realizes just how thin she’s gotten. Gaunt. Hadn’t he noticed that her clothes were looser? Hadn’t he noticed last night when he held her? He could feel sharp bones. She was nearly skeletal. Dammit, how did he let her nearly slip through his fingers like sand.

She smells like cigarettes and he notices a crumpled package sitting in the front cup holder. She’d been smoking. She hadn’t smoked since, since- God, he’d almost lost her and the thought is terrifying. He needs to bring her back. Needs to help her see that she doesn’t need to run, doesn’t need to suffer along. His Scully is strong but he needs her to let him help her hold the World on her shoulders- it was too much of a task for one. He wouldn’t abandon her. She needed him and he almost lost her.

“It’s okay, Scully. I’m here.” They walked slowly over to the car, him letting her take the lead though his arms offer firm support. Her body is tense when she notices her son staring, wide-eyed at his mother. What had she done? She tried so hard to fix herself. She ruined everything.

“Scully, he’s alright” Mulder intones, noticing her apprehension, “He just worries for you.”

He helps her slide into the passenger’s side and rounds the car to his own.

He’s using his left hand to drive the car. His right is holding Scully’s their whole trip. Her car is left on the side of the road- it didn’t matter. She looked at him with worried eyes when he misses the turn to their home and continues instead towards the highway.

He squeezes her hand lightly and glances at her. _We will be okay_ , he says without saying anything at all.

Mulder finally reaches the home of Maggie Scully and William hops out, his grandmother already waiting with promises of cookie baking, and batman cartoons and no school tomorrow.

Her brow knots when she rounds the car and sees her daughter for the first time in weeks. She warily looks at Mulder. _Take care of her. Put her back together_ , Maggie Scully’s beg. _My daughter. She’s my only daughter, God is the cancer back_ her worried brow speaks for itself

* * *

 

When they reach their home she’s had time to recover in their silent car ride. He can see the cast iron around her body in her arms, clenched around herself; her brow knotted in concentration. With a whispered “I’m fine” she whisks herself out of the car and into the house, briefly getting caught by the wind and newly falling snow and stumbling.

He catches up to her easily; her heeled boots clicking across their old hardwood floors. He’s holding the purse she seemed to forget in the back and decides not to question her now on the counselor’s card that fell out of her pant pocket when she left the car in a flurry. He decides to give her some space, following her at a distance into the bedroom, surprising her.

“Scully, I can make dinner,” his voice begins from the doorframe; hopeful. He wanted her to eat, he’d make her favorite- vegetable lasagna, even though it took so long to make from scratch. She would complain about the calories and carbs and dangers of consuming the quantities of food he gave her, citing the second year of their partnership and he would say ‘you were adorable’ to which she would reply ‘you’re just trying to fatten me up, Mulder,’ and he would say ‘well I already had to barefoot and pregnant,’ and he could say it. For once, he could actually saying it without weeping, without mourning the son they would never see again. He already dreamed up the whole situation. Scully would smile, thinking of their little boy, now home, and would ask for another piece of lasagna and they would talk, and he would help her.

Except none of that happens. Mulder deflates when she tells him, instead of ‘you’re just trying to fatten me up,’ “I’m not hungry.” He leans his body harder against the frame, trying to convince her, knowing it won’t end well. But maybe it could. Maybe she would listen, or let him in. At least, if she wouldn’t let him feed her body he could at least give her food for thought.

“You need to-”

Her hand slams down on their bureau, startling the wood and small knickknacks that reside on top of it. The small photo-frame housing their family photo falls face forward and her jewelry box shakes.

“Don’t tell me what I _need_ to do,” she hisses, spinning around but stumbling slightly, her hand coming to her head.

“I’m frightened, Scully. You’re wasting away,” there are tears in his eyes and for the first time she holds his stare, her own tears gathering and spilling over. “We-”

“I-I tried, Mulder”

“Scu-

“I tried so hard to stop them,” her voice is pained and her face scrunches in an attempt to hold back sobbing. He steps forward and she explodes, running her arm across the bureau, all of the items flying across the room in her fury. “I screamed,” she shouts, her body shaking from anger, her back to him. She’s on the other side of the room, too far from his reach and he knows she needs this, needs to get out her anger. At herself. At him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers softly. He can’t help the surprise on his face when she turns so violently on her heels

“And you-” she storms up to him, her finger extended. “You-” her eyes narrow, the fury flaming in them. “You brought them,” she pushes him with both of her palms and he’s startles, stumbling back a bit before steadying himself. He forgot how strong she could be. It makes all of this so much more difficult. He knew she fought with everything she had- and it wasn’t enough. “You brought the darkness” she pushes again and he doesn’t move. Her hair is in scattered in all directions as she uses all of her force, now with closed fists against his chest.

“I hate you,” she screams her fists heavy on his chest.

“I’m sorry, Scully”

As if realizing what she’s said immediately, knowing she can’t get the words back, his Scully, who never says anything she doesn’t mean, stops abruptly. He pulls her into his embrace, as her knees buckle and she begins to mourn, loud sobs rising from her scarily-tiny form.

“I didn’t mean it,” she moans. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have the right to your feelings,” he says softly, smoothing their hair as he holds her in his arms on their bedroom floor.

“I screamed for you,” she’s weeping still, tears glistening down her cheeks and onto his thick long-sleeve shirt as he wraps both of his arms around her. “you didn’t come for me, and I knew you couldn’t” she sniffles “but I-” suddenly her focus shifts “Please,” she begs, covering her face with her hands. She’s so tiny in his arms. “Please don’t look at the reports. P-promise me.”

“I-” How can he make a promise not to look at the reports? Not to search personally after the men who did this to his wife, his family? Not to hunt them down and slaughter them himself? And then it hits him, as he’s holding her shaking body in his arms. They’ve reached a crossroads once again, where she begs him not to put himself in danger. His wife, everything was taken from her and she’s still most worried about him- his hunt for the truth. He’s done this to her.

_He won’t sacrifice her soul for his truth again._

“Please forgive me,” and he realizes what she’s apologizing for. For saying she hated him. For the attack. For her job. For giving up William.

“Talk to me, Scully. Please. Let me in.”

“I can’t. I-”

“You don’t have to start from before. How about today. Start with today.”

He can feel her spine against his forearm as he cradles her and she breathes deeply. She leans her head against his chest and her hair smells like her. She smells like Scully, his Scully of 10 years ago, with her bath & body works soap on her skin, mingling with the smell of cigarettes. His chain-smoking Scully that ‘secretly’ kept a stash in her purse for when things got too difficult. He remembered catching her as she took a long drag and puffed the smoke from her beautiful lips, her eyes rolling back as the nicotine mingled with her body and reacquainted itself. His Scully who shouldn’t be smoking when she just recovered from an ‘alien-virus’ and cancer before that, and a dead sister and- okay, maybe she had a lot of reasons to smoke. But she shouldn’t. He remembered her quitting cold-turkey before Hollywood, before William was thought of, before she fell asleep on his couch. He remembered seeing the packs, unopened, on the table when he ran off on a child-molesting-priests quest. But she hadn’t smoked then. And she had now.

“You were smoking today,” he begins for her, giving her a beginning. It’s not an accusation; his voice is soft and consoling.

“I went to the counselor, the one, the one from before,” she murmurs. Her counselor, Janice Tillman, who she hadn’t seen since her miscarriage in 2007. He answers her with a deep and encouraging ‘Mhmm,’ not wanting to interrupt her. Janice was a kind woman, and Mulder knew Scully saw her mother in this woman, told this woman things she couldn’t dare tell her mother. He begins to run his fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face so he can see her. He tilts her chin. When she sees his earnest eyes she begins to stammer and her eyes fill up

“I went because I-I was looking for cigarette money in my purse and I found the bottle of pills for my migraines.” His arms tense around her, and she can feel his breathe catch in his lungs. “And I thought about it, Mulder.” Tears are sliding down her cheeks. “And I just want to go back, and be like I was before. And I tried- but-but-”

“You did the right thing, Scully.” His head is spinning. She could have died-killed herself. His brain told him that she wouldn’t have actually taken the pills, that she was too proud, that she wouldn’t leave William, that she wouldn’t leave him. But his brain wasn’t Scully’s brain and he knew about how those thoughts seeped into you skull, mingled in all of your good memories and distorted them. He thought of the nights where he sat in his Oxford dorm, his apartment, when he sat in the desert holed up in an unconditioned trailer clicking the safety of his gun on and off all night until he succumbed to sleep. Those nights in his apartment and the trailer, his thoughts always went back to her. If he remembers clearly, which he always does, he knows that his thoughts of her got him through Oxford, well the image of someone to love him, to care for him, to believe him. He’d seemed to forget that he wasn’t the only one with demons. He wouldn’t leave her to fight on her own any longer.

“I can’t live like this, Mulder,” she looked at him with azure glistening eyes. He ran the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks, catching the tears and pushing them away.

“We will get through this, Scully,” he says with more certainty than he’s ever possessed. Of all of the things he’s defended, justified, believed in, he believes in her and them the most. “Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey! I'm in the process of applying for grad school and *inserts life drama* so the conclusion may be a little slow. However, I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed and encouraged me to continue writing- the positive words definitely make me type up the story faster (I'm not exactly sure how good that is for my abandoned grad school apps but... ...lol .) Anyway, thanks and have an excelent day! I hope y'all like where the story is going! :)


	8. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're disgusted," she finally says, shaking her head and backing away, trying to grab her garments and a towel to cover herself with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your support! This is the final chapter! If you have an MSR prompt (particularly post IWTB) please message me on here or on my tumblr blog "Ifmuldercouldseemenow"
> 
> I don't own The X-Files. If I did, William would be chillin' on that beach with Mulder and Scully!
> 
> Hope y'all like it!

_He'd seemed to forget that he wasn't the only one with demons. He wouldn't leave her to fight on her own any longer._

_"I can't live like this, Mulder," she looked at him with azure glistening eyes. He ran the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks, catching the tears and pushing them away._

_"We will get through this, Scully," he says with more certainty than he's ever possessed. Of all of the things he's defended, justified, believed in, he believes in her and them the most. "Together."_

* * *

It is hours later when he wakes. A blanket is covering him on the floor but his arms are absent of her warmth. Maybe she was right, maybe he did want her for her body heat. But there was so much more than that.

"Scully?' he calls, raising to his feet and reaching for the dresser to steady himself. The room is back in perfect order and he glances at the clock, realizing almost 3 hours have passed. If someone walked into the room now they wouldn't begin to suspect that just hours ago his wife was having a nervous breakdown.

"Mulder," she responded surprised from the bathroom. The door is closed and she sounds pained.

"Scully," he calls. He can't keep the worry from his voice. He tries the doorknob, happy to find that it opens with ease.

"Stop!" she shouts, but the door is already open. She turns from him, pulling her open dress shirt around her body but he sees tiny, angry marks on her flesh.

"Scully?" his brows knot and he looks like a hurt animal. "Please. Don't hide from me."

Tears slide down her cheeks as she lowers her pants. It pains him that she doesn't even have to unbutton her pants to slide them over her slim hips. She's so incredibly thin. There he sees it. Raw thighs.

Her long baths. The long nights sitting in the bathroom. How hadn't he noticed?

"It hurt so much," she doesn't look at him "I feel so dirty and I can't get it to go away." She pauses and looks at his face. He tries to plaster a blank expression like he was taught through so many years as a profiler, but he can't. "You're disgusted," she finally says, shaking her head and backing away, trying to grab her garments and a towel to cover herself with.

He steps forward and touches her arm softly, stopping her. "You could never disgust me, Scully. You're my one in 5 billion," he smiles warily, knowing the line is overused but that she would appreciate it. Her hand clenches on his arm.

"Mulder-"

"I want to help you. Please, tell me how."

"Could you stay with me, Mulder?" Her voice sounds tiny and worried. She's afraid of his response, afraid that her admission was too much for him-despite his previous words. His eyes widen in shock momentarily, before he realizes that she means stay in the bathroom with her, not stay in their marriage. Either way, the answer is "Always."

He runs water that is a pleasant temperature, not the scalding hot she was used to. Holding out his hand, he helps her step into the claw-foot tub, giving her soft reminders that she's beautiful, that they will get through this; that they're gone. When she begins to scrub her legs a little too viciously, his hand dips into the water and stops hers. She looks at him with tears all anew in her eyes. He takes the clothe from her trembling hands and puts fresh soap on it, running it over her back.

"You didn't ask for this, Mulder," she says, sounding angry at herself. She feels helpless, but thankful. His hands are smooth and gentle over her skin, rubbing in the soap.

"I took the same vows you did, Scully. And you've been taking care of my sad ass for over 15 years. Don't act like you haven't dreamed of me as your servant for all these years. All that's missing are the grapes and my tiny frilly uniform." He says as he takes the nozzle and wets her hair. He puts a glob of her favorite shampoo in his hand (he had horde to choose from too, Dana Scully, his goop-collector) and leans into her ear, whispering huskily. "Which can be arranged, you know."

At this she laughs, really laughs and he smiles fully. It's been so long.

When he's finished he turns his back to get a towel and hears the water slosh behind him. His eyes go wide when he turns around to Scully attempt to get up but stumble back to her seated position. Mulder ignores the pools of water now on the floor.

"Can you help me up, Mulder. I-I feel dizzy."

He's there in an instant, towel in hand, arms outstretched.

Both of her hands reach and grab his forearms, tugging him closer and closer. He whispers a question into her ear and she nods.

He wraps her in the long towel and swoops his arms under her legs, lifting her. Scully squeaks momentarily before resting her head in the crook of Mulder's neck. She missed this. She remembers the last night he had done that, just days before-she pushes the thought away.

When he sets her on the bed and runs off, she calls after him. "Mulder?" she questions. Waiting a few beats, she asks again. "Mulder what are you doing?" When he doesn't respond she slides from the bed and bath towel, grabbing her purple robe and pulling it over her body. Just as she's about to walk down the stairs she sees Mulder, arms full of junk. His eyes go wide and he stares, knowing he's been caught, before shooting her a grin.

"What's all that, Mulder?" she asks, arms crossed over her chest.

"Our movie-night feast, Scully."

"Feast?"

"Pizza's on its way. Extra pineapples like you like" She begins to speak to tell him she's not really hungry when her stomach growls loudly in their silent house.

He shoots her a shit-eating grin. Holding the bundle of some of the unhealthiest snacks she's seen in her life, Mulder scurries past her. How he got flamin'hot cheetos in the cart without her seeing, she'll never know, but she's certainly craving them now. She follows him into their bedroom as he drops the snacks Iced tea bottles, root bear, sunflower seeds, and Oreos now lay scattered across her bed. She wants to tell him that all this junk will be the death of them. That they're too old, that her metabolism- but she doesn't. It reminds her of their late-nights doing paperwork-of her laying in his bed and he massaging her feet and neither of them getting any paperwork done at all. It was so long ago, and yet when the man in front of her turn, she sees the same man from over 15 years ago smiling back to her. He pats the bed, and shoots her another grin.

"And if you're nice, Scully, I'll even let you pick a chic-flick." She smiles and pulls back the duvet, officially breaking her rule of "no eating in this bed" when she pops a cheeto into her mouth. Flamin.'

The pizza seems to arrive just as they've found the movie channels and when he returns he sees that they are indeed watching a chic-flick.

"27 Dresses, Scully? Really?" He settles in the bed and opens the pizza, watching her carefully as she eats. He knows she may not ever understand the delight he feels when she finishes one slice and then goes back for another. The cancer had taken so much from her: her appetite, her health, nearly her life. He had nearly done the same when he ignored her migraines and her pain while he ran off with Father Joe nearly a year and a half ago. The signs were there before. He wouldn't ignore her again. He wouldn't sacrifice her for his truth. He wouldn't let her waste away. He would protect her.

They aren't watching the movie, not really. She shimmies across the bed after she's had her fill of pizza and cheetos, and leans her head on her husband's shoulder. He takes her hand in his and holds it tight as she begins to whisper her secrets to him.

She whispers until it's the sun shines through their curtains and he listens intently to every word.

* * *

**Months later**

Dana Scully awakens from her bed to the soft whimpering of her only son. She slides out from under the duvet, careful not to wake Mulder, and pads quietly into William's room.

"Willy," she says softly, gently shaking her son's shoulder. He is moving uneasily in the bed, obviously in duress and crying. "Will," she leans closer, rubbing her hand up and down his arms. He wakes in a fluster, shaking from the confinements of her arms and shouting.

"Mommy!"

"Will. Willy it's okay, I'm right here," she whispers into his ears, smoothing his sweat soaked hair from his forehead. She didn't have to ask him what nightmare he was having. It had been nearly 2 months since he'd had his last one, thanks to the child psychologist he'd been seeing.

"Mommy," he wailed into her shoulder. She held her son for what could have been minutes or hours before he started sniffling and then stopped crying all together.

"S'ok, Willy," she soothed, rubbing her hand against his back. "Want me to lay with you?" He made room for Scully in his tiny bed and leaned into her chest as she laced her fingers through his hair, and hummed his favorite bullfrog song. His soft voice broke her melody

"When will the dreams stop?" She sighs empathetically and brings her lips to the top of her son's head.

"I don't know," she admits honestly. "But I can tell you that nothing that happened that night was your fault. It wasn't any of our faults."

"Are you still scared?"

"Are you, William?" Scully asks, worried. She wants to cure her son, but knows there's no magical cure- that the best thing she can do is listen to him. Mulder has taught her that. William nods his head and tightens his grip around her hand, looking at her with eyes that mirror her own. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, deciding that it's time to tell her son.

"There is darkness out there, William, and sometimes it will get you. But what I can tell you is that your father and I love you  _very_  much and would do  _anything_ to protect you."

"And what about you?"

"The darkness got me William, and I was so afraid for so long," she begins, her voice cracking. "And it's okay to be afraid, but whenever I feel scared or I think I'm too sad to go on, I remember that wherever I am, If I'm in trouble your father is doing everything in his power to come help me." William smiles at his mother and lets her wipe the final tears from his cheeks. "And you never know, Willy, he might come rescue me in that maid costume."

William lets out a gut-busting laugh at this, pointing at the picture pinned on his wall of his father in costume holding grapes.

She pulls her son close to her once again, and breathes in his scent. He's soon asleep in her arms. Scully plants a kiss on his forehead. "You and your father are my salvation, William," she whispers "please always remember that." She adjusts her son, careful not to wake him, and slides from the covers. The blanket his placed up to his chin, which she knows he hates but it really is chilly tonight.

Walking back to her room, she slides back under the sheets. Scully soon notices that Mulder is not longer asleep when he reaches his long limbs across the bed. She flinches briefly before leaning into his touch and letting him pull her close to him.

"You have to keep bringing up that costume, don't you? Cruel, vial woman"

"Hey it was your suggestion, I only held you to it," she comments as his fingers drum atop her hip, and run up her side, happy that her ribcage is no longer entirely exposed.

She closes her eyes as Mulder hums into her neck, his melodious vibrations massaging her muscles. There was still so much work she had to do, so much they had to do, but he was there to help her. He would always be there. They would get through this, that much she knew.

And that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue? Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts.


End file.
